


Why Not Me

by deux_lunes



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Sick Character, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 08:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deux_lunes/pseuds/deux_lunes
Summary: When John loses his voice, Paul has the opportunity to ask the question he’s wanted to know.Originally posted on Livejournal.





	Why Not Me

“John. John. John.”

John Lennon blinked sleepily into the darkness, his temporarily useless vocal cords squeaking in confusion.

“Shh, John, don’t try to talk.” Paul’s face floated out of the dark of their shared hotel room, too close for comfort in John’s opinion. His confusion bled into irritation and he sat up, scowling into the darkness. His mind was dying to demand what the fuck Paul McCartney thought he was doing, waking him up in the middle of the night when he was about to die and didn't even have a voice to say his last words. He had already been sick when they went into the studio today, but “Twist and Shout” had destroyed him. He was now under strict orders not to utter a single word. And now Paul wanted to talk to him? If he weren’t so sick, he’d beat his arse right then and there.

Paul leaned closer, and John could smell a light strain of whiskey on his breath. “John, I need to ask you something.” His voice was a whisper, his eyes searching John’s face. John simply held up his hand as a sign to continue, annoyed as he was. He could never have expected what would come next.

“Why not me?” 

_“What?”_ John mouthed.

“Why not— Why not _me_, John?” His eyes begged for comprehension, but John could only stare back in confusion.

The bassist whined deep in his throat. “Why did you pick Stu?”

A spike of fear pierced the older man like ice. He had never told anyone about his attempts at an affair with Stu, one that only lasted several kisses and a lone handjob at their shabby flat in Hamburg. It was an experience that John preferred not to remember, with Stuart quietly looking away after he came on John’s hand, softly pulling away from John’s lips, leaving and not coming back until late the next afternoon. They never talked about it again. But oh, those kisses, a man’s kisses… Sometimes John would allow himself to think about those kisses as he stroked himself and he would come easily. Powerful, strong kisses. Masculine kisses. But now as Paul asked him this question, John was glad for the first time that he couldn’t speak. He wouldn’t know how he would answer.

Paul gave a drunken sniff loudly, settling back into his own space. “John, I’ve always wanted you… You knew Stu didn’t like men, you fucking knew it! The way you looked at him, the way he wouldn’t look at you, oh God, John! Why didn’t you pick me? Wasn’t I—Wasn’t I good enough?” He rubbed angrily at his eyes, sniffing once again. His fingers pulled nervously at the hem of his t-shirt, and the fear, the anger, the lust radiated from him.

John had to clench his jaw together to keep his mouth from dropping open. _Paul McCartney_ wanted _him_? It wasn’t so much that Paul was interested in John himself, but that he would be interested in any man! The effort in which that boy put forth into bedding the ladies bordered on an Olympian event. 

“Paul,” he rasped and the younger man’s head shot up.

“John, please, please don’t talk,” Paul pleaded. “I can’t do this if you talk, I just can’t. Hear me out, please.” He breathed shakily. “John, I’ll do anything for you. Anything you want.” A trembling hand found its way to John’s knee, only separated by a thin sheet. “I don’t care if you don’t like me like that… A mouth is a mouth, right?”

John’s prick twitched inside of his briefs. This situation was now completely out of his control and he wasn’t too sure that he was actually awake. Of course he had thought about Paul before, any human with a fucking shred of sexuality had thought about Paul before! But with Paul’s sensuality came Paul’s immovable heterosexuality, at least, that’s what John had always believed. The hand making circles on his thigh made a compelling counterargument though.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Paul whispered and he gently pulled the sheet off of John’s lap, running his hand up the bare leg in front of him. “I won’t kiss you, I won’t do anything like that. I just want to suck you off.” He looked shyly, sadly, into John’s eyes. “Did Stu ever suck you off?”

John shook his head madly, not knowing if he wanted to stop this or would do anything in his power to keep it from stopping. Paul pushed his back up against the headboard, then hooked his thumbs into John’s briefs and pulled them down, exposing his half-mast erection. The younger man slid down his friend’s body until his face was level with John’s cock. That sight alone was enough to make him orgasm, so when Paul took him in hand, he gasped loudly, shivers running up his spine.

“John, I’ve always thought about this,” Paul whispered in a slightly drunken babble, stroking his dick slowly. “Ever since we were kids, I thought about you, about being with you. I didn't even think you liked blokes, I’d pray that one day you would wake up and you’d realize that you liked men. And I guess you did ‘cause you started looking at Stuart the way I looked at you… But I don’t care if you don’t love me, John, I don’t. Being able to be with you… like this. This is enough for me.” And with that, he lowered his hot mouth onto John’s prick and John tried to moan, but it only came out a pitiful flutter of noise.

Paul’s mouth was anything and everything John could have dreamt of and Paul seemed to have an innate knowledge of what his friend wanted. He took him deep in his throat, running his tongue intimately around his shaft. John saw him reach into his own underpants and start pumping himself, all while still sucking and licking the man in front of him. 

The younger man started to moan around John’s cock, and the vibrations brought him dangerously close to the edge. Silent moans filling his throat, he tugged at Paul’s hair, trying to warn him that he was close to coming. Paul looked him in the eye and simply kept his mouth sliding up and down him. Realizing what Paul was meaning to do, John moaned out loud, his voice cracking as he came passionately into the bassist’s mouth. Paul groaned and John could see him bucking his hips wildly. Finally, all was still and Paul pulled his mouth from John, sitting awkwardly at the edge of the bed in his wet underpants. The older man made no effort to cover himself, not even to close his legs or his panting mouth.

“I’m sorry, John, I’m so sorry,” Paul whispered, not looking at him. “You don’t have to do anything about this, I won’t do it again. Of course, unless you want it. If you want it, I’ll be glad to give it…” He stood on visibly shaking legs and began to dig through his suitcase, dragging out a clean pair of briefs. “I’m going to go to George and Ringo’s room,” he said as he dressed himself. “I’ll sleep in the tub or something… I just don’t want you to have to wake up seeing me and feeling weird in the morning. You don’t have to worry about it.” He started toward the door, then slowly walked back to the bed and pressed his lips to John’s cheek. “Good night, Johnny.” With that, he left, leaving John blinking after him, fingers stroking where his lips had lightly touched him.

***

Several days later, John’s voice was strong enough for him to talk again but he and Paul did nothing of the sort. At least they didn’t talk about that night. John hadn’t stopped thinking about it though. Paul’s hot mouth, his soft voice whispering love, the quick brush of lips against his cheek. He wanted more, he wanted all.

The only problem was that he had no idea how to confront Paul. The younger man had his walls built ten feet high around him, even though at certain moments, John would catch him looking at him that he knew so well. He thought it would be impossible, that this would fade into an experience whose memory would hurt him, until Paul coughed. Not just any cough, a lung-hacking, body-wracking cough. Paul had caught his cold.

Soon enough, Paul’s voice withered away into a whisper and he blew his nose miserably into his handkerchief every few minutes. Even though they were done recording, George Martin had given him the same orders as John, because the only things more precious to a musician than his hands is his voice. So Paul isolated himself in the hotel room, sipping tea and quietly groaning.

This was what John had been waiting for, the same chance the younger man had. After a shot of liquid courage in the hotel’s bar, he entered the room loudly and dropped himself onto Paul’s bed. 

Paul’s perfect eyebrows raised. _“Yes?”_ he mouthed.

“Paul, was you losing your voice just an excuse to hide everything you said the other night?” John’s voice was low and teasing, but Paul’s face was nothing but a mask of pure horror and shame.

“John—”

John shushed him, laughing. “No, no, Paul, no talking. I couldn’t talk, so neither can you. Fair’s fair.” 

The younger man shook his head, cheeks on fire. He wouldn’t look at him, so John took a hold of his chin and raised his head to look him in the eyes.

“Stu wouldn’t look at me after I tried to make it with him, Macca,” he confessed, heart pounding. “I can’t handle it if you don’t look at me either.” Paul’s eyes grew softer, less afraid, so John continued. “It wasn’t that I didn’t pick you, Paulie. It’s just that it was easier to see Stu avoid me than it would have been to see _you_ avoid me.” Still cupping Paul’s chin in his fingers, he leaned forward and gently kissed his friend. The bassist made a soft sound of surprise and pleasure before pulling John into his arms. 

It was better than kissing Stuart. They had been nervous, afraid and trying to desperately finish before anyone returned to the flat. But now, both he and Paul knew what they were doing and they both knew what they wanted. Their hot tongues caressed the other’s knowingly until Paul pulled away suddenly and released a violent cough into the bed sheets.

“John, I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, “but do you think we could continue this when I’m not about to die?” 

John laughed, despite the arousal that coiled tightly in his belly. “Yeah, love. But don’t think I won’t wait a second longer.” They curled up together on Paul’s bed, sitting in the silence that was only broken by loud coughing until they fell asleep.

THE END


End file.
